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THE TOP OF THE WORLD

By

Ethel M. Dell

Author of "The Way of an Eagle," "The Lamp in the Desert."

1920

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

TO THE PRECIOUS MEMORY

OF MY MOTHER

"The years shall not outgo my thinking of thee"

When you have reached the top of the world And only the stars remain, Where there is never the sound of storm And neither cold nor rain, Will it be by wealth, success, or fame That you mounted to your goal? Nay, I mount only by faith and love And God's goodness to my soul.

When you have reached the top of the world And the higher stars grow near, When greater dreams succeed our dreams And the lesser disappear, Will the world at your feet seem good to you, A vision fair to see? Nay, I look upward for one I love Who has promised to wait for me.

For to those who reach the top of the world The things of the world seem less Than the rungs of the ladder by which they climbed To their place of happiness, And I think that success and wealth and fame Will be the first to pall, For they reach their goal but by faith and love And God's goodness over all.

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER

I. ADVICE II. THE NEW MISTRESS III. THE WHIP HAND IV. THE VICTORY V. THE MIRACLE VI. THE LAND OF STRANGERS VII. THE WRONG TURNING VIII. THE COMRADE IX. THE ARRIVAL X. THE DREAM XI. THE CROSS ROADS XII. THE STAKE

PART 11

I. COMRADES II. THE VISITORS III. THE BARGAIN IV. THE CAPTURE V. THE GOOD CAUSE VI. THE RETURN VII. THE GUEST VIII. THE INTERRUPTION IX. THE ABYSS X. THE DESIRE TO LIVE XI. THE REMEDY

PART III

I. THE NEW ERA II. INTO BATTLE III. THE SEED IV. MIRAGE V. EVERYBODY'S FRIEND VI. THE HERO VII. THE NET VIII. THE SUMMONS IX. FOR THE SAKE OF THE OLD LOVE X. THE BEARER OF EVIL TIDINGS XI. THE SHARP CORNER XII. THE COST

PART IV

I. SAND OF THE DESERT II. THE SKELETON TREE III. THE PUNISHMENT IV. THE EVIL THING V. THE LAND OF BLASTED HOPES VI. THE PARTING VII. PIET VREIBOOM VIII. OUT OF THE DEPTHS IX. THE MEETING X. THE TRUTH XI. THE STORM XII. THE SACRIFICE XIII. BY FAITH AND LOVE

The Top of the World

PART I

CHAPTER I

ADVICE

"You ought to get married, Miss Sylvia," said old Jeffcott, the head gardener, with a wag of his hoary beard. "You'll need to be your own mistress now."

"I should hope I am that anyway," said, Sylvia with a little laugh.

She stood in the great vinery a vivid picture against a background of clustering purple fruit. The sunset glinted on her tawny hair. Her red brown eyes, set wide apart, held a curious look, half indignant, half appealing.

Old Jeffcott surveyed her with loving admiration. There was no one in the world to compare with Miss Sylvia in his opinion. He loved the open English courage of her, the high, inborn pride of race. Yet at the end of the survey he shook his head.

"There's not room for two mistresses in this establishment, Miss Sylvia," he said wisely. "Three years to have been on your own, so to speak, is too long. You did ought to get married, Miss Sylvia. You'll find it's the only way."

His voice took on almost a pleading note. He knew it was possible to go too far.

But the girl facing him was still laughing. She evidently felt no resentment.

"You see, Jeffcott," she said, "there's only one man in the world I could marry. And he's not ready for me yet."

Jeffcott wagged his beard again commiseratingly. "So you've never got over it, Miss Sylvia? Your feelings is still the same after five years?"

"Still the same," said Sylvia. There was a momentary challenge in her bright eyes, but it passed. "It couldn't be any different," she said softly... Continue reading book >>